Merry Christmas, Brother
by What's'SupWitChu
Summary: Rape/Non-con. Prompt: When Mycroft was first starting out in his career, a superior got him drunk and took advantage. He told no one, and started avoiding his little brother out of fear his secret would be revealed. Years later, Magnussen lets Mycroft know there's no such thing as secrets. Sherlock realizes something is wrong and finally deduces the blackmail.
1. Chapter 1: Hell Takes Over

**A/N: Hi Guys! So I can't stress enough that this is going to be a dark fic and it's sort of a test for my writing abilities, so I hope I handle this sensitive subject well. I hope the OP approves too, as I shall be adding a few twists of my own! Prepare for a lot of Mycroft angst and feels. Also, there will be OOCness, but I think that can be expected. Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews mean the world to me :) xx**

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**Chapter 1: Hell Takes Over **

Mycroft couldn't say he was particularly fond of participating in such affairs. Nowhere in his job description had it stated that he would need to stand loyally by his employer's side whilst the stuffy older man plastered on a fake smile and greeted people he pretended to care about – though it was really all about business, of course. Mycroft couldn't argue though; at the age of 21 he was sort of an apprentice to Mr Samuel Harwood and so felt obliged to abide his every instruction if he wanted to become a successful politician himself.

Harwood seemed normal enough. He was arguably a stereotypical aristocrat who enjoyed the finer things in life, and was always up for argument and debate. He had taken an instant shining to Mycroft when the young man had applied for the job, and although Harwood was not the most open man (and probably one of the most demanding) Mycroft didn't particularly mind; he enjoyed the challenge.

The party was merely a casual affair to celebrate the up and coming Christmas festivities (and probably a way for his boss to do a bit of point scoring). However, Mycroft could say he was somewhat elated by the opportunity of meeting various leading moguls of their respective fields.

"Ah, Magnussen!" Harwood boomed as he welcomed yet another rich and elderly man with a firm handshake. "It's good to see you, old boy. Surely this young man is not your son, Charles? He has certainly grown since I last saw him."

"Indeed he is. He's going to take over the paper one day soon and be just as successful as his father" Magnussen senior beamed proudly and clapped a hand on his son's shoulder (whom Mycroft gathered to be a few years older than himself.)

"And who are you?" The younger Magnussen asked with a seductive stare at Mycroft.

"This is young Mycroft Holmes! My protégé, he's going to make a fine politician himself one day" Harwood responded whilst Mycroft (unusually for him) tried not to turn any redder with embarrassment (or perhaps even flattery.)

"It's nice to meet you" Mycroft said politely and went to shake Charles' hand.

The younger Magnussen complied by gently taking Mycroft's hand and caressing the back of it whilst gazing at Mycroft with a smooth smile – Mycroft felt the heat beginning to creep up in his cheeks again.

"The pleasure is all mine" Charles insisted.

Mycroft saw out of the corner of his eye the disproving look his boss was shooting in their direction.

"That's quite enough, Charles" his father warned him sternly. "I shall see you inside" he said with a nod towards Harwood before ushering his son in to join the rest of the party.

"It seems Charles has taken quite a shining to you" Harwood said gruffly though he refused to meet Mycroft's gaze.

"Oh, I think he was just being friendly, sir" Mycroft tried to reason, not wanting to be in trouble with his boss.

"Mmm, a little _too_ friendly for my liking" Harwood muttered more to himself than Mycroft. "Anyway, come along now, Holmes, that should be everyone now."

Mycroft spent the next couple of hours traipsing around after his employer meeting various people and trying his best to hold light conversation. After a while it appeared that he ended up doing most of the talking anyway as Harwood was close to having one whiskey too many.

"Come on, Mycroft!" Harwood exclaimed jovially as the night drew on and the people present started to thin. "You deserve a drink, my boy."

"Oh, I don't think that would be appropriate, sir" Mycroft replied modestly.

"Nonsense!" Harwood insisted as he forcefully thrust a glass of something into Mycroft's hand. "Get it down you, boy, politics isn't all about having a stiff upper lip you know."

Mycroft gave his boss a wary smile before taking a sip from the glass (of which its contents turned out to be very strong whiskey.) Harwood watched Mycroft encouragingly, a half smirk on his face, and he spent the rest of the night making sure that his protégés glass never ran dry. It went against Mycroft's better judgement to drink so much when he was still supposed to appear in a professional state despite the party's casual nature, but he felt he couldn't decline his employer's wishes.

Regardless of the fact he was becoming increasingly tipsy, Mycroft was still aware of Charles Magnussen looking at him from across the room. The budding politician had slowly transcended from being flattered to slightly disturbed. There was something quite dark and calculating about those piercing eyes; not like they were being used for deduction like Mycroft's own, but rather as if the younger Magnussen feared missing something of deeper import (that was what bothered Mycroft the most.)

"Mycroft, come with me, my dear boy" Harwood insisted in a hushed tone. "I have something…_important _to give you."

The younger man was slightly alarmed at first by the amount of strength there was behind the man's grip as he clasped his arm, but by this point Mycroft could feel the room spinning from the high amounts of alcohol finally getting to him, and he could only assume his employer felt the same.

Mycroft paid little attention (as he was more focused on not stumbling over his own feet) when Harwood managed to drag him up the stairs and into one of his many mahogany offices. He left Mycroft swaying slightly by the desk (whom felt the need to touch everything on it) and the younger man was only faintly aware of the soft click which signalled that his boss had locked the door; his mind was too boggled in his current state to process any danger this could lead him to be in.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Mycroft asked, having to think a lot more carefully about forming the words so as not to stutter.

"I just couldn't stand to see Charles looking at you that way any longer." Harwood almost growled possessively. "You are mine, Holmes."

Mycroft actually paused at that forceful and presumptuous statement. He turned to his superior and tried not to let a curious frown overtake his expression.

"I am your employee, Mr Harwood." Mycroft stated in return, as that was all his idled mind could take the older man to mean at that time.

"Please, call me Samuel" Harwood insisted as he moved closer towards Mycroft, his steps calculated as if he were not trying to scare the younger man away – and with good reason.

"I don't think that would…" Mycroft started, but he was soon stunned into a shocked silence.

His eyes widened with fright and his breath caught when his employer brought up a delicate hand to start caressing his cheek, and he could feel the other hand running around the waist band of his trousers.

"W-what are d-doing?" Mycroft asked with shakiness and terror that he hadn't known he'd had in him before.

"Sshhh" Harwood whispered deeply into Mycroft's ear. "You know this is what you deserve."

"P-please get off me!" Mycroft yelled, hoping that someone, _anyone_, would come to his aid.

He struggled and tried to push Harwood away but he was still weakened by his intoxicated state and it seemed Harwood had only been acting drunkenly for show; he'd wanted to make sure Mycroft would be unable to defend himself so he would have complete control. Harwood did not take kindly to Mycroft's fight and so gripped his wrists tightly, pushing him back against the desk.

"No one will believe you boy. No one's coming to save you because you know you don't deserve to be saved. You need this just as much as I do. You think I hired you for your brains? I have plenty of that myself, no, you have your red hair and your pretty little freckles. That's what I like."

Mycroft whimpered helplessly and still tried to continue his fight, but Harwood had almost complete power over him now as he had Mycroft nearly laid right back on the desk and his started to kiss the younger man harshly on the lips and suck as his neck.

Mycroft soon found himself shaking too much to struggle anymore. He felt sick to his stomach and all he could do was hope that someone would walk in and find them. He wanted to scream but all he would allow were the silent tears to start streaming down his face. But more than anything, as he felt Harwood begin to tangle with his belt buckle, he wished for the darkness to take him away.


	2. Chapter 2: Leaving

**A/N: Hello my lovelies! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story so far :) I feel so mean about poor Mycroft, but there is still lots of angst to come his way. Sorry the update took a while but I kept having ideas so this story is probably going to be longer than I thought XD Anyway, I hope you like the update :)**

**Reviews really mean a lot to me! Xx**

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**Chapter 2: Leaving **

When Mycroft woke up it was dark and he was alone. There was a part of him that prayed he'd just awoken from some kind of horrific nightmare, but when he looked at the various parts of his clothing scattered around the place and felt the pain radiating all over his body he knew that was untrue. He was too traumatised to think of anything else to do but just put his clothes back in place and go home (to his parent's house where he was visiting for the holidays).

Mycroft didn't register the long time he took in-between each blink of his eyes or each breath from his chest as he stiffly began to redress himself, unable to hide the limp which was now plaguing him. He just appeared haunted, as if the full force of what had happened to him had not quite yet hit.

After straightening out his appearance as much as he could, he exited the room and froze when he spotted the ever glaring eyes of Charles Magnussen from the end of the hall. The elder man was watching him with almost a smile of satisfaction on his face and a gleam in his eyes. Mycroft didn't even have the energy to look appalled, to scream or cry at the notion of Magnussen knowing what had been happening to him and yet doing nothing about it. Instead, the elder Holmes turned and limped away.

He managed to get to the front of the house unseen, the last few party guests probably too drunk to notice him anyway. He had no idea where Harwood had gone (just the thought sent a chill down his spine.)

Mycroft exited the house and faced the elements of the cold and dark night – when exactly had it started to rain?

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Mycroft didn't even begin to feel safe until he had returned to the family abode and firmly locked and bolted the front door behind him. He rested his hands on either side of the frame and bowed his head, taking a deep breath and trying to gain control over the shaking which still racked his body.

The elder Holmes could feel the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he was truly on the verge of breaking the dam, but still he tried his hardest to block out the taunting memories (which still seemed like present realities - Mycroft was questioning if he had actually escaped or if he was still unconscious, oblivious to the violent manhandling bestowed unwillingly on his person.)

"Mycroft?"

His eyes widened with fear and his breath hitched as he whipped around to find his 14 year old brother rubbing at bleary eyes as he balanced precariously on the bottom step of the stairs.

"Sherlock..." Mycroft's voice sounded a lot scratchier and strained than he intended it to - his throat felt constricted as he feared he might actually let out a scream. He cleared his throat. "What are you doing up?" He asked managing to conceal the pain he was in a little better that time.

"I am getting some water" Sherlock informed him.

He frowned at his brother curiously and that made Mycroft fee; intimidated all over again. The elder Holmes wanted to move things along quickly as he knew that despite his younger brother still being half a sleep he could easily pick up on things.

"Well, don't be too long. You have to be up early to visit Aunt Sophia tomorrow." Mycroft reprimanded him as sternly as possible - that would be in character of him, nothing suspicious there.

"Ugh, don't remind me" Sherlock moaned as he jumped down from the last step and started to head towards the kitchen. "The woman really is a bore..." He paused when he got a little closer to his brother and realised the water dripping from his flat hair and the various marks he had on his neck and face.

"What happened to you?" The young boy asked.

Mycroft knew he had to tread carefully, and so rolled his eyes in exasperation as would be expected of him when faced with his younger brother's idiocy. He was just going to have to lie through his back teeth and pray that Sherlock would accept his fabrications.

"I walked home from the party because it was too late to find a cab, but it's raining and I forgot my umbrella."

"It is not like you to be forgetful." Sherlock pointed out. "What about the bruising?"

"Do you have to stick your nose into everything?!" Mycroft found himself snapping before his could get his mind to catch up – so much for subtleness.

Sherlock was looking up at him startled, perhaps even a little frightened; Mycroft never lost his temper with him and usually he encouraged Sherlock's inquisitiveness. The elder Holmes closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

"My apologies. I'm just extremely tired." Mycroft said, and although it was no word of a lie he knew he wouldn't be getting a lot of sleep that night. He feared that nightmares may consume him, but even then it couldn't be as bad as the nightmare he had just lived.

"Right…well…goodnight." Sherlock responded, and gave his brother one last suspicious look before heading to the kitchen.

Mycroft tried his best to conceal his limp in case Sherlock looked around again as he made his way (painstakingly) slowly up the stairs.

When he reached his room the older Holmes started to move on autopilot. He went into the bathroom and removed his dishevelled and bloody clothing, stuffing the items into the bag to dispose of as soon as possible. He couldn't bear to look in the mirror from pure shame and disgust as he weakly stepped into the shower. He remained under the scolding hot spray for at least half an hour, scrubbing frantically at every inch of his body, until there wasn't a patch of skin that didn't look red raw. However, it still wasn't enough; he could still feel rough and frantic hands grasping at his exposed skin.

After finally finding the will to exit the shower Mycroft pulled on a fresh pair of pyjamas and proceeded to put some ointment on any visible scratches and bruising. He then limped his way over to the bed and laid down in a protective ball on his side, and it was only then, in the darkness of the early morning hours when he had nothing else left to concentrate on but the silence and the rampaging thoughts in his own mind that it truly hit Mycroft what had happened to him.

The fear and humiliation was all so raw as he realised that he couldn't hold back the river of emotion anymore and progressed to sob violently into his pillow.

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Mycroft woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside his window despite it still being dark outside. He wanted desperately to believe that the events of last night had all been part of some horrific nightmare, but the still present scratches on his arms and the pain radiating all over his body told him otherwise.

Suddenly, there was a soft groan which had not come from Mycroft, and the elder Holmes stiffened as he realised for the first time that he was not alone in his bed. He soon relaxed again though (just a little) as he felt the familiar texture of his brother's curls brush against his arm. Mycroft looked down to find Sherlock sound asleep and nestled into his side, with one arm wrapped almost protectively across his big brother's waist.

Mycroft didn't remember his younger brother coming into his room last night and so could only assume he had crept in whilst he was sleeping. The elder Holmes wondered if Sherlock had heard him crying and could only pray that wasn't the case, although the younger boy had not felt the need to slip into his brother's bed since the age of 7 and he'd long since conquered his fear of storms.

Mycroft laid a fond gaze upon his brother and although he could not yet muster the will to smile, he affectionately ran a hand through the young boy's hair. He knew he couldn't stay. He had taught Sherlock everything he knew in the felid of deduction and so knew that if he stayed it was highly likely Sherlock would figure out what happened. He couldn't do that to his brother. He didn't want the young boy to think less of him, and he didn't think he would be able to handle the embarrassment and hurt if anyone found out. Sherlock would presumably want to tell their parents or the police and Mycroft couldn't even begin to think about that right now. No, he had to go away for a while, distance himself from Sherlock's curious eyes. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but ultimately it would be the best for them both.

Mycroft quietly slipped out of the bed (careful not to disturb his brother) and began sneaking around the room as he gathered his things.

Just as the elder Holmes finished and had pulled on his jacket to leave, Sherlock sat up albeit wearily in the bed and rubbed his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, sleepiness still evident in his voice. "It's six thirty in the morning."

"I'm afraid there has been a crisis over night and I must return to the city." Mycroft informed him.

"Oh…okay" Sherlock responded, clearly too tired to try and argue for once. "Wait!" he called when Mycroft turned to leave. The younger Holmes scrambled out of the bed and picked up the umbrella which was still resting against the side of the wardrobe. "Don't forget this again." He urged as he held it out for his brother.

Mycroft knelt down to his brother's height and took the umbrella, hooking it over his left arm.

"Never again" he promised as he knew that would be the last promise he could give his brother for a while.

With that, the older Holmes planted a quick kiss on his younger brother's forehead before bustling out of the door.

That was the last the Holmes brothers would see of each other for a long time, and thus a rift in their relationship began to form.


End file.
